


there's a light in the crack that's separating your thighs

by kendrasaunders



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Dream Sex, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kendrasaunders/pseuds/kendrasaunders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the three dreams kate fuller has about three dangerous people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a light in the crack that's separating your thighs

She’s starting associating dreaming with sex. There’s no reason for it.

There has to have been a time before. When she’d had a nonsexual dreams about... Seth Gecko. Or-

The others. 

Kate’s at least gotten better at staving them off. Mostly.

It requires a lot of very unsexy thinking before bed. Very distinctly unsexy. Not praying. That stopped working months ago.

She has to remind herself to think of blood. And guts. And gore. And death.

Or the dreams will come.

And if it’s not Seth, it’s one of the others.

At this point, she’s embarrassed.

Blood and guts and gore and death.

She shuts her eyes.

 

\--

“Come on, Katie,” he says, hand on the curve off her ass. “You can do better than that.”

Kate pushes her hair out of her face. “Maybe I can’t,” she says. “You’ve barely taught me anything.”

Seth’s thumb digs deeper into her skin. “Please,” he says. No strain. No sweat. “This is easy.”

She feels like she’s run a marathon. Like her chest is going to fall inward.

But she also knows, in that acute sense, that stopping is not an option.

It’s just the way things happen in dreams. The knowledge is just embedded in her head somewhere. She can’t think too hard about where.

She’s obviously not thinking too hard about much of anything. If she let this happen.

In a dream.

Again.

And the thing is.

The thing.

She’s not even sure if this is what sex feels like.

Because what this feels like, first and foremost, is a dream.

A wet dream, in the truer sense. Because she’s so, so damned wet between her legs that it’s kind of tragic.

Only kind of. She doesn’t live with Seth anymore.

She just... does him in her dreams.

Nice one.

“I’m exhausted,” she manages, a sort of pathetic thing to say inside her own head. She nibbles her lip. “Can’t you do the work for me?”

He grins at her. She feels filthier, somehow, by the nature of her question.

She doesn’t _want_ him to do things for her. She doesn’t want to think of him like this.

But here she is. 

And here’s dream Seth.

The proof is in the pudding, as her father would say.

Gross. Gross. Wrong path to take. Wrong person to think of.

“Course, Kate,” he says. Because he doesn’t know anything’s wrong. And the though vanishes with his words, anyway, just as it does in real life.

But that’s fine.

This isn’t real.

He doesn’t even exist.

But he’s on top of her, now. That dream dynamic where nothing has to lead from one thing to another. Where it can just happen.

And the feeling in her chest is warmer. The feeling better her legs slicker, more pronounced.

“Seth,” she murmurs, without thinking about it. “Oh God.”

His expression is unreadable. She knows it’s safety and warmth and something else, but there’s this glint in her eye and it reminds her of-

Hunger?

It’s her dream. Why does she want that?

What does she want? To be held by him? To be consumed?

Is this what safety feels like, now?

She wraps her arms around his neck.

As far as sex dreams go. As far.

She knows this is tame.

She does.

But he can never know.

 

\--

 

“You’re quiet.”

Kate looks up. Stares right into his glasses and shrugs.

“Just an observation.” Richie is a lot less-

He’s not-

It doesn’t start with sex. It’s pretty chaste.

At first.

Those dreams start with their clothes on. Sometimes by the pool, sometimes in the back of the Twister.

Sometimes in the motel. Just like Seth.

Usually, they talk.

Kate can never remember what the topic is. Just that Richie smiles, sometimes, in a shy little way. Like it’s funny, to him. Like she’s funny.

But he doesn’t mean it maliciously. And she knows, somehow, that he cares.

She wakes up empty, sometimes. She didn’t mean to miss him.

“And anyway,” he says, pulling off her blouse. “You’re really pretty, Kate.”

When did he take her clothes off? Where did his clothes go? She doesn’t know. Dream logic.

And it’s so oddly chaste. So juvenile. Not like Seth, her sexual id, or whatever her brain wants him to be.

Richie is a different kind of comfort. Something closer to what she used to know.

Not that Richie, real life Richie, is anything like that. Or was, with anyone but her.

She chides herself for imagining it.

She chides herself for not doing more.

“Do you want to-” And he gestures to himself.

She drops to her knees.

It’s not always like this. Sometimes he drops to his. It’s a flip of the coin. But it’s never penetrative, on the bed sex. 

That’s Seth territory. And this isn’t Seth. This is Richie.

She doesn’t know how to suck someone off.

For clarification.

She’s seen it happen once. By accident. Twice, because she clicked the link again. It had been... weird. She’d been curious.

And this is where it got her, apparently.

The link had not been pleasant. This is, for some reason. She can’t imagine she’d like this in real life. She can’t imagine she’d ever actually do this to Richie.

But this is her dream. This is in her head. And in her head, Richie gently strokes her hair.

“See?” he says, and he’s teasing her. He must’ve been joking with her earlier in the dream, making her laugh, but it’s only an outline of a memory. “Easy as pie.”

She pulls back. “You don’t taste like pie.”

He laughs.

It’s funny. She can’t ever remember him laughing in the real world. She can’t ever remember him being this... soft.

Is this what he really is? Or is she making it up?

“That stings, Katie-cakes,” he says. “Really.”

“Quiet,” she chides. “I’m busy.”

It feels like a teen movie.

It feels like a bad pornography.

It doesn’t feel like Richie Gecko.  It’s too plesantville. Too sweet.

So why is he really here?

She thinks she misses him. Not like Seth did. But she does.

And maybe-

Maybe he just needs the chance to be kind. She’s not really sure.

 

\--

 

She doesn’t like girls.

Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’s not usually into girls. Because she’d had a wet dream about Jessica. Once. By accident.

But just the once.

Santanico is not Jessica. Or Seth. Or Richie.

She’s something else entirely.

And she shows up... a lot.

As much as the other two. Kate barely even knows her. And that’s why it bugs her, really.

She doesn’t know Santanico. She knows what Seth said. She knows what Richie said.

She knows what Santanico looks like.

But is it fair? Is it fair to dream of this woman (goddess) when Kate barely even knows the sound of her voice?

Hell. Kate barely even likes her.

But Santanico’s hand still winds up between her legs.

And there’s this inherent knowledge to it. That Santanico is better at touching Kate than Kate is at touching herself.

Which makes her feel guilty. Which makes her feel unsure.

She’s turned on. She probably shouldn’t be.

Because Santanico doesn’t feel like anyone else. She doesn’t feel unreal. Separate from reality.

Kate wakes up thinking Santanico was really there.

Sometimes. Most of the time.

She doesn’t like it. She’s not sure Santanico does, either.

“Why do you keep coming here?” Kate says.  She shifts her hips. Spreads her legs.

Santanico drags a lazy finger down Kate’s slit. “Because I need to talk to you.”

“But do you really want to do-” She gestures.

A tilt of the head. A waterfall of brown hair. She smells nice. No one else has a dream-scent. This is just a dream. This isn’t a dream at all.

“It’s your head,” Santanico says. “Your fantasy.”

“But is it?” Kate says. “I mean-”

Santanico rubs her clit a little more insistently. “It seemed like the right way in.”

“If you don’t want to touch me,” Kate says. “Don’t.”

And Santanico drops her hand. There’s the sense that they’ve done this too many times, too many nights. And Kate won’t remember. And maybe this is just a dream, maybe this is just make believe.

“I do want to touch you,” Santanico says. “I- You like me.”

“I’m attracted to you,” Kate says. “Clearly.”

“But you’re soft about it,” she says. “You’re- You’re just you, Kate Fuller.”

“Thanks,” Kate says.

Santanico’s hand finds her again. “You’re welcome.”

“Why are you here?” Kate says. Tilts her head back. “What do I have to give you?”

A silence. “I like seeing you.”

“What about the boys?” Kate says. “Is that your doing as well?”

A small, amused noise. “No.”

“So I’m just a pervert, then.”

“Hardly,” Santanico says. “You’re just a girl.”

Kate looks up, and there she is. The woman with oddly soft brown eyes and a determination set in her lips. “I’d feel guilty,” Kate says. “If you were just doing this because you thought I wanted it.”

“That makes one person,” she says.

“We should kiss,” Kate says.

She kisses Santanico.

 

\--

 

She kisses Richie.

 

 

\--

 

She kisses Seth.

 

\--

 

She wakes up.


End file.
